Practice Makes Perfect
by amandajbruce
Summary: Set during the season three episode "I Honestly Love You, No Not You." In which Oliver attempts to practice his speech for Lilly with not so great results.


He could see it all perfectly.

Miley and Mr. Stewart would be off doing something Hannah related, and he and Lilly could have dinner alone. There would be candles on the table. And a light snow would be coming down outside. A fire crackling in the near by fire place. He would, of course, pay for everything (or charge it to Hannah Montana's room because she had plenty of money and Miley would understand), no matter how much she might argue with him about it. The restaurant would, hopefully, not be too crowded. And he would take Lilly's hand across the table. And then he would say-

"Oliver! What on earth are you doing? Why are you holding your socks out in front of you like that?" Mrs. Oken stood in the doorway to her son's room, one eyebrow cocked, her arms folded. She wasn't sure if she actually wanted an explanation.

"Uh..." Oliver looked at the socks he had grabbed on to in his Lilly induced stupor. "Packing? It's gonna be cold." He avoided his mom's gaze. "I thought I'd need extra socks."

"You need to hurry up. The Stewarts'll be here to pick you up for the airport any minute."

He gave his mom an awkward thumbs up and threw the pair of socks into his half packed bag. Then, he sighed, grabbed everything with long sleeves and tossed it all inside so that he could flop down on his bed and think about his predicament in peace. Miley, as Hannah, had already secured them all ski gear.

"Hey, Lils?" He muttered to the ceiling. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you." But he shook his head immediately. He couldn't call her Lils. That's what he called her when they were joking around. That was too friendly. It wasn't right.

He pushed himself up on both elbows and caught his reflection in the mirror on his closet door. His hair was already sticking out at odd angles and his cheeks were flushed from all the effort he was putting into actually _thinking _about something. Maybe he shouldn't think so hard. Maybe he should just let it happen.

But what if it never happened because he was a huge chicken?

That was too likely of a possibility. Planning was better.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver tried again, this time staring himself in the eyes. "Lillian Truscott, I-"

But he stopped short. Too formal. Way too formal. When had he ever called her Lillian when he was serious? She hated it when people used her full name. And it wasn't like he was proposing or something. Just the thought made his neck itch and his cheeks flame. He needed a glass of water. But if he went downstairs without his bag actually packed and ready to go, his mother would probably use her man voice on him.

Or maybe he needed a sedative. Something to relax him. Nah. He needed to be coherent. He had to focus. And think.

* * *

On the plane, even though they were in first class, he couldn't get comfortable. His Mike Stanley beard was driving him crazy. He felt like he had on too many layers of clothing. And Lilly, er, Lola, was sitting too close to him.

And underneath the makeup and the glue for her wig, she smelled like apples. It was faint, but he could catch the scent every time she moved.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to find a position that would at least allow him to take a nap or something. But nothing worked. Finally, he gave up, jumping from his seat and mumbling something about the bathroom so his traveling companions wouldn't think there was anything wrong with him. He felt Lilly's, no, Lola's, eyes on him the entire short walk up the aisle.

Walking into the little closet sized restroom, he braced his hands on the small sink, splashed some water around his eyes, careful not to get any on his fake beard, and took a few deep breaths. Just because he'd never done anything like this before didn't mean that he couldn't do it.

He was just terrified.

It wasn't like he hadn't thought about saying those three small words to Joanie when they had been dating. He just could never bring himself to do it. It wasn't right. Something about saying it to her had always felt wrong.

There were times when the light would hit her hair just right, or she would smile at him in just the right way, that made him consider telling her, but then his throat would close off and he would have to question whether he actually meant it or if he wanted to say it because he felt like that was the thing to do when you had been dating a girl for so many months. And it wasn't like he was one of those guys who was going to say something he didn't mean just to get in a girl's pants.

Not that he hadn't considered it. He was a guy, after all. But, still.

Oliver hadn't had that throat closing off, completely wrong, all around black hole feeling with Lilly though. There was no doubt in his mind that he felt the way he felt. He just was too scared to tell her.

What if she didn't feel the same way? What if she laughed at him? What if this whole thing was some sort of nightmare and he was going to wake up to find out that he had never actually dated Lilly? What if this was all a hallucination planted in his head by aliens that wanted to take over?

Well, that was just silly.

The aliens weren't going to come after him when they took over. They'd probably go after the political leaders first if they really wanted to take control. They'd definitely go after Hannah Montana though. Not her posse. They'd probably demand she sing for their home planet or something. Book her for a victory party when they claimed Earth for their species.

He took another deep breath and stared at himself in the mirror. Enough with the alien thoughts. They were creeping him out. He was going to start looking over his shoulder for little green men soon.

"Relax, Oken. You can do this. If you," he gulped, "love her, you have to tell her. She should know." He nodded his head, and though his muscles tensed and his palms began to sweat, he shut his eyes and practiced saying the words softly, reciting them like his own personal mantra. "I love you. I, Oliver, love you, Lilly. I love you. I love you. Lilly, I love you." Opening his eyes, he grunted at his reflection, "that's not so hard, is it?"

The panic seized his chest again though, and he wasn't sure what was going to happen once he actually made an attempt to say it when he wasn't looking in the mirror. Shaking his head, Oliver wrenched open the door, and stepped into the walkway, scoffing to himself, "Come on, it's not that hard. I love you?"

"Well, that's very sweet, son, but I don't even know you." The flight attendant eyed him with a shy smile. "But maybe look me up in a few years."

"Oh, I, uh, no, I was just, um," he stammered, "I was just talking to myself." He tugged nervously on his beard. "I wasn't. I mean. I'm sorry." And then he sped to his seat, hoping the flight would be short.

And it was, even though he felt like they had been in the air for hours. He jumped every time someone spoke to him, then looked around guiltily as though they knew what he was thinking about. And he refused the flight attendant's offers of drinks or peanuts every time she came by. He shrugged when Lola glared in his direction.

* * *

A bellman in bright green led all of them to the suite Hannah Montana had been assigned. Oliver followed Jackson to their shared room and blocked out the squeals of delight coming from the girls' room. They already sounded far away; it wasn't that hard to do.

Instead of unpacking, he collapsed onto his bed and removed his Mike Stanley facial hair, waiting for someone to tell him what they were going to be doing that first day.

As it turned out, Hannah had a photo call she had to attend, and the rest of them were obligated to go as well. Then, there was some sort of dinner where they had to listen to speeches, but Oliver tuned them out, scratching at the fake beard he was forced to wear. He really wished he had never thought that Mike Stanley III would benefit from the added facial hair. It made him feel like he was going to sneeze all the time. And it didn't really make him look that much older.

And that night was a bust. Because they already had dinner, so he couldn't put his plan into action. Instead, he made reservations, as himself, for two at the hotel restaurant for dinner the next night. He would just have to hope that Lilly would be willing to have some alone time instead of some celebrity time on this trip.

That night, before going to bed, he mumbled to the ceiling while Jackson was in the bathroom, "I'm going to do it. I'm going to tell her tomorrow. It's going to be perfect. And I can say it. Even though it's hard." He swallowed, picturing Lilly's face in his mind, bright blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, sweet smile, all framed by the golden hair. Flopping onto the bed, he announced, "I love you," to the room, just when the door to the bathroom creaked open.

"You're a weird kid," Jackson responded as he walked out of the bathroom.

"What?" Oliver pretended to be confused. He had gotten really good at that over the years. "I- I was talking about the bed." He gulped, saying, "Have you felt these pillows, man? They're awesome. I might sneak a couple home in my suitcase."

"Not a good idea," Jackson replied, jumping into his own bed. "I did that at the last event, and I had to pay Miles fifty dollars per pillow because they charged it to the Hannah account. She wasn't very happy with me."

"When is she ever?"

"Good point. You think you can fit mine in your luggage too?"

Oliver ignored him, rolling over and trying his best to go to sleep. He was restless though, enduring dream after dream of him telling Lilly that he loved her only to have her break up with him. Or announce that she preferred Gabe Lamotti after all. That they had really bonded at the Surf Club meetings, and she was running away with him to have lots of babies with gills and webbed feet so they would be better swimmers. Oliver, apparently, couldn't hold his breath long enough. That one freaked him out, and he woke up two hours early for breakfast.

He was the first one down to their table in the restaurant, and he sat there with a cup of coffee for fifteen minutes, just staring at it in his Mike Stanley disguise, forgetting that he was supposed to be finding something to eat on the menu. Every time the waiter came by, Oliver forced himself to apologize and request a few more minutes to look over the list of items in front of him. There were about 12 different kinds of pancakes, fancy French toast, omelets, pastries, vegetarian options, gluten free options. Frankly, there were just too many options for his brain to process right now because his mind was glued to dream-Lilly telling him Gabe Lamotti was going to be a much better boyfriend than he was.

Oliver shuddered and pointed vaguely to something on the laminated panel in front of him when the waiter came back for a fourth time.

"Very good, sir," the waiter said stiffly, whisking the menu away with his nose held high in the air.

Closing his eyes, Oliver breathed through his nose, attempting to push the images from his dreams out of his head. Instead, he pictured Lilly skateboarding with him. Then, there was Lilly singing karaoke, badly, in front of the whole school. And Lilly recounting her exploits as Lola to him. Lilly's eyes shooting daggers at Joanie across the cafeteria. Lilly spiking the ball perfectly in a volleyball game even though she was half the size of most of the rest of the team. Lilly kissing him goodnight. Sighing, Oliver whispered, "I love you," to the empty table.

"Very good, sir," the waiter said again, this time trying to hide a smile as he placed a heaping plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him.

"Great," Oliver muttered. "Now the waiter thinks I'm in love with him too."

* * *

Forcing himself back into his fun loving head space, enjoying this free vacation, he was able to act much more like Oliver as Mike would normally act. And he was just relaxing, set to try out his new snowboard on the slopes before dinner that evening, and Miley had to go and do something stupid to ruin everything... like fall down a mountain.

One good thing about the hospital waiting room, Oliver was able to just be Oliver. Miley had to go the hospital as Miley. Otherwise there would be awkward questions about everyone's wigs. He leaned back in his uncomfortable plastic chair, feet propped on a table full of magazines. Lilly was curled up like a cat in the plastic seat next to him, head resting on his shoulder while he stared at the ceiling.

They had already been waiting for over an hour when Oliver's eyes began to slip shut. He knew he should be worried about Miley, up and pacing like everyone else, or comforting Lilly while she leaned against him, but for some reason, worrying just made him tired. And he hadn't slept much the night before, so he decided to let his eyelids fall. Just for a minute.

Maybe falling asleep in a public place when he had Lilly on the brain hadn't been the greatest idea though. Because his subconscious conjured up a dream of him pursuing Gabe Lamotti and his girlfriend on surfboards down the side of a snow covered mountain.

"Lilly," he shouted against the falling snow and whipping winds, "come back! He doesn't really have gills!"

But Gabe and Lilly continued down the mountain, the swimmer's arms wrapped around Lilly, holding her in place in the middle of the surfboard.

Angrily, Oliver bent his knees, mentally urging his board to move faster. And he was tumbling through the layers of snow, falling headfirst into Gabe, plowing right through him.

"Olly-pop? Are you alright?" Lilly asked him, hovering over him with her blond hair shining bright despite the increasing snow fall.

Sighing, Oliver whispered, "don't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"But Gabe-"

"He was just helping me down the mountain." She smiled gently.

"Are you sure?" Even in his dream state, Oliver was skeptical.

"Mmm hmm. He was going to help me find the alien space ship that crashed down there." She nodded vigorously, pointing to the far off trees.

"I love you," he told her before she got him to run off for the aliens too.

But then, Oliver was being shaken roughly awake.

"I'm glad you're so willing to share your feelings boy, but keep them to yerself for now," Mr. Stewart joked as he finally got Oliver to open his eyes.

"Wha?" Oliver blinked, taking in his surroundings. He was still sprawled in his hospital waiting room chair, but Lilly and Jackson were nowhere in sight. Thankfully, though there was no reason for him to be there, was Gabe. Oliver probably would have tried to lock him in a utility closet if he'd seen him anywhere. "Where is everybody?"

"We can go see Miley now," Mr. Stewart explained with a slow shake of his head and a raised eyebrow. "You feelin' alright, son?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." Oliver brushed off his concern and headed down the hall to visit his comatose best friend.

Of course, if he had really been fine, maybe he wouldn't have been so quick to use that comatose best friend as a practice dummy to let out some of his anxiety. If he had been smart about the whole thing, he would have remembered that Miley never reacted to medication the way people thought she would, and he would have considered the possibility that she would be able to hear everything he said to her.

If he had been smart, he would have just kept his mouth shut and created another opportunity to tell Lilly how he felt instead of practicing on everything in sight. But, no. Oliver Oscar Oken didn't exactly have a history of being smart. So, instead, he blurted out how he felt, even being stupid enough to take Miley's clammy hand in his own when he did it. And never once did he mention Lilly's name in his practice speech.

And because of that one little slip, he almost lost her. Dramatic antics and high pitched squealing and violent tendencies and all.

Lucky for him, Lilly didn't take much convincing when he explained the entire misunderstanding. The idea that he could be in love with Miley made him chuckle every time, and then feel a little nauseated. Because, really, Miley? Had his friends learned nothing over the years? Miley was definitely not his type.

* * *

And so it was two weeks after his weekend stint of practicing that he had a new plan. He didn't care that he and Lilly had already exchanged those three word sentences. That was a forced situation that he kind of wanted to forget entirely. He wanted the chance to start over. He made the fanciest food his limited cooking skills afforded, spaghetti and tomato sauce from a jar, while the rest of his family was out, set the table with the good dishes, lit a couple of candles, and called Lilly to come over for some help on his Spanish homework.

"Olly-pop," she called as she came through the back door of the house, "I'm beginning to think you should just drop Spanish all together. Find a new elective. One you're better at." She padded through the kitchen, sandals echoing on the tile floor. "Why are all your lights off?" She asked, making it to the dining room, then halting with a soft gasp. "What's going on?"

"I made you dinner," Oliver mumbled, tugging on the collar to his tee shirt nervously.

"You made me dinner?" Lilly echoed, barely managing to keep the squeal in. She practically skipped over to him to plant a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. "That's sweet, but..." dropping her voice, Lilly said sorrowfully, "I already ate with my mom."

"Oh." What was he supposed to do now? His plan always involved dinner. Always. The lights were low, the candles were lit, and then he would reach across for her hand and tell her.

"I'm sorry." And she did really look sorry, her blue eyes wide and the corners of her mouth pulling down while she looked up at him.

"No big deal," Oliver breathed with a shrug. "I thought I'd surprise you, but..."

"We can do something else," Lilly said brightly. "And we can have some of your," she glanced behind her to see what was on the table, "spaghetti tomorrow or something."

"Right. Tomorrow." He swallowed and nodded his head, not looking at her. "The thing is-" And he was all set to tell her about his plan, about why he made her dinner, about wanting her to have a better memory of the first time they exchanged such important words, but he didn't get a chance, because she pounced on him.

One second he was looking at the floor, trying to figure out what to say, and the next, his lips were too busy with Lilly's. Her fingers were digging into his biceps, holding on to them to support herself while she stood on her toes, and then she was shoving him backwards to the living room, and it was all he could do to wrap his arms around her waist to make sure the two of them didn't fall onto the floor. Instead, they toppled into an ungraceful heap on the couch, a tangle of arms and legs, the wind knocked out of him.

"Lilly," he groaned when she managed to pull her mouth away from his. He tried to focus enough to talk, but her body was pressed against him in all the right places, and he didn't know how long he would really be able to concentrate on anything else.

"I know," she whispered, pushing herself up to lean over him, the tangled strands of her hair falling around her face, blue eyes bright and locked with his brown.

"What?" Again, there was a focusing problem. Because even though the top half of her body wasn't aligned with his, the lower half definitely was. Feeling every twitch of every muscle, he tried to breathe, but found it more difficult than it should have been. Instead, he was almost panting with the effort of keeping still, his brain wanting to focus on what Lilly was saying to him, his body preoccupied with other ideas.

"I know." Even in the almost complete darkness of the living room, Oliver could see the blush spreading over her cheeks. She shifted slightly against him, and he swallowed another groan. She didn't seem to have any intention of making this easier. "I love you. And we don't need a do-over."

That snapped him to attention. "But-" Again, he wanted to explain.

"Oliver," she demanded, moving her knees to either side of his thighs so she could sit up completely, and effectively stop him from being able to think about anything other than his girlfriend straddling him while his parents were out of the house, "do you really think you're in any position to argue with me right now?"

A smile slowly curled across his mouth as he considered the implications of her question, and suddenly, Lilly was on her back on the couch with no idea of how she got there, her air supply cut off by Oliver's mouth all over again. She tried to pull him as close as possible.

He drew back to whisper softly in her ear, "I love you too, Lilly-pop."

And then, there was no more talking for a very long time.

* * *

**A/N: So, my first one shot since NaNoWriMo. What do you guys think? Was my break from fanfic deserved? Does this make up for it? Because it was a lot of fun to write.**


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